


New Brave

by NinaFey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, cora mills - Freeform, fluff with a sort of plot, hint of angst and salt maybe?, literally just mention the beards to make fun of them, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 22:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7952095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinaFey/pseuds/NinaFey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, do you know where I could find Regina Mills?” She says quickly. </p><p>The prefect lets a laugh and Emma wants to ask what’s so funny but doesn’t. “That’s her over there. Perched over the five feet of parchment.” She points at the table by the fire. “Good luck.” </p><p>Hogwarts AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Brave

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off a twitter fic and well it just got away from me because I love those two idiot lions and the Stranger Things soundtrack a little too much. The story is basically their relationship told in moments through 15 years. No grand destinies, just them as people.
> 
> Title's from a CTZNSHP song.
> 
> SMALL EDIT. I tend to make playlists for my fic and here's the one for this: [Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJxTb54RT1c&list=PLk_cBaVR-TG8kIOpBpYeSnqOqIyoMobOB)

 

**Dragon Heartstring and Phoenix Feather**

* * *

  

She hadn't expected the train to feel  this stuffy, especially not on a rainy first day of September. Regina’s shirt is too tight around her neck but she’d said nothing when the clothes had appeared on her bed this morning. Forest green and impeccable black. Even once settled in an empty cabin Regina still doesn’t dare remove the cloak mother had made special two weeks ago. It’s too heavy for her but the grip of mother’s fingers on her shoulders had made that unimportant. If it hadn’t, then there was always her wand and the way it burned against her skin. Regina reaches into her pocket for her own wand. The handle is comfortable and the weight is just right, she quite likes it. “Applewood!” the wandmaker had announced enthusiastically when it had picked her, “How wonderful!”. She had thought so too because papi had planted an apple tree when she was born. Even if he didn’t like using his wand very much, because his magic is from an ocean away, he’d still beamed when she told him. But mother had pursed her lips and simply said “Well, at least the core is still Dragon Heartstring. Not completely pathetic.” 

Some people shuffle into the cabin but pay her no mind, and she breathes a sigh of relief. For one moment she thought that maybe Zelena would’ve come with her but she hadn’t. “Try not to be bore, little sis” is all she’d said before heading down the aisle and it’s just as well. They would have spent the whole six hours to Hogsmeade fighting, Zelena reminding her that she is indeed the older sister. And really two years isn’t that much of a difference but it matters to Zelena enough that they usually end up pinning the other to the ground. More than once they’d done something horrible to each other like Zelena accidentally smashing her against a wall or Regina giving her sister a nosebleed. An ugly thing always settles in her stomach when mother watches their fights. It’s like she enjoys them, somehow. Regina suspects she even instigates them but she can’t be sure. “Zelena has been sorted into Slytherin. See that you do just as well, dear. Wouldn’t want your sister to best you, now would you?” Mother had said one morning when the mail had flown in. Papi had only given her a weak smile knowing full well there’d been nothing he could do or say. 

There is no other option but Slytherin, there can’t be. Mother had practically drilled into her brain the names of all the sons and daughters of everyone who mattered. She even knows by the first of September how the Slytherin common room is laid out, who the current head of House is and all sorts of things that will help her be the best. There had been lists and books mother had given her to study. Once she’d slept in when she had been supposed to be reading and mother had come into her room and with lifted her up into the air, to hang upside down only to give her a painful shock, something like lighting. Regina had awoken before anyone else in the house after that. So it is extremely important that she be sorted into the right house. She has the funny feeling that maybe her life depends on it.

Her heart races  as she stands perfectly still in her school robes, her tie not yet tinted to house colors, as she waits for her name to be called by the professor with the oval spectacles on her nose.   

“Mills, Regina!” 

She walks up the steps carefully, not letting any of the nerves show on her face. Her eyes turn to her sister sitting at the Slytherin table and Zelena looks worried for her. It isn’t something Regina is used to and she wonders what it means. If Zelena knows something she doesn’t. She figures that the Sorting Hat will sit a while on top of her dark hair and think where to put her before finally deciding that she is a silver snake. But she is wrong, so very wrong. The Sorting Hat barely touches the crown of her head before it shouts

“GRYFFINDOR!”  

Regina slides off the stool and sees Zelena looking away from her. That’s how she knows that it’s perhaps the worst outcome she could have had. The professor hurries her along and points to the Gryffindor table. She feels a cold sweat creeping up on her back and her breathing becoming hard and heavy. With a tightness in her chest, Regina settles between the other Gryffindor first years. She takes small bites when the feast finally begins, like she has been instructed. Keeps the butter away from her bread and sits with her back straight. Regina barely sips her drink and is careful with whatever crumbs might fall on the napkin on her lap. Looking around she realizes that there isn’t a single face she recognizes, there is no one she should be making friends with or anyone with a truly important name. Everything she had spent over a year learning is made useless at this precise moment but she dares to hope that it may not be a bad thing. By the time chocolate cake and pudding pop onto her plate, she takes bigger bites and lets her shoulders sag just a little bit.

Everyone leaves the Great Hall, loud and cheerful while she clenches her fists. Regina doesn’t know where she’s going, she only knows that it’s in the opposite direction that she had expected this morning. Up to a tower and past a portrait of a Fat Lady instead of down the dungeons and beyond a great stone wall. The warmth of the common room hits her when the portrait swings open. It smells of sugar, wood, and fire. The armchairs by the fire look a bit worn. Someone is flying paper birds around the room and there’s only the hum of some music Regina has never heard before. It’s nothing like her mother’s house and just like that her chest isn’t so tight.

 

* * *

 

“Maybe there’s something wrong with my wand.” Emma volunteers as she hands it over to Professor Duncan to look at. 

He holds it and narrows his eyes. “Mahogany. What’s the core?”

“Umm..ah..phoenix feather.” She replies extremely relieved she hadn’t forgotten.

“There we are. Nothing wrong with your wand, Miss Swan.” He hands it back back to her with a small smile. “Just takes a little longer, this one.”

Emma is still not used how everyone speaks here, as if things like these are just supposed to make sense to her. A few months back she hadn’t even known she was witch and now she has to nod along to whatever anyone says about anything.

“Ok...what about my fire spells then?” It’s awkward and she hates it coming out of her month but the truth is Emma just wants to get this right.

“Practice,” Professor Duncan says simply but he must see something in Emma’s face. “You could seek the help of another student.”

Emma doesn’t want to say that she hadn’t really noticed who of her classmates is actually good at this spell. She’d been too frustrated with the stupid way smoke had come out of her wand and well she isn’t exactly great at making friends.

“Yeah, I guess so, yeah.” It’s what she ends up saying.

“My best student last year was Regina Mills. Mastered the spell in no time, she’s in Gryffindor house too. I recommend you ask her,” He looks like he’s just remembered an important detail. “Tell her I said so.”

So Emma walks the halls of the castle, _the castle,_ she has to remind herself, back to Gryffindor tower. Most days this doesn’t seem real to her. On a sort of hot summer day, it had to have been because all the men were walking around shirtless and gross, a woman with the oddest clothes Emma had seen had shown up at her foster parents’ home. But since they weren’t her real parents she had wanted to speak to Emma alone and had handed her the letter from Hogwarts. The same woman had knocked on a different front door two months later to accompany her to Diagon Alley.  

“But I haven’t got any money,” Emma had said looking over the very, very long list with things she couldn’t even pronounce. 

“The Ministry takes care of, uh, cases such as yours. No need to worry.” She’d looked like had wanted to place her hand on her back but hadn't. 

How the Ministry takes care of cases like Emma is second hand everything except for the wand. Her robes are a bit on the gray side instead of the deep black most people wear. The only bright colors on her uniforms are the gold and scarlet that are magically stuck on her ties. She still doesn’t really get how.

Once in the common room she loosens her tie and slides out of her cloak. It’s almost four thirty and these days it’s getting dark earlier. Especially this far North. Emma recognizes a prefect and if anyone is supposed to know who everyone is then it’s her. 

“Hey, do you know where I could find Regina Mills?” She says quickly.

The prefect lets a laugh and Emma wants to ask what’s so funny but doesn’t. “That’s her over there. Perched over the five feet of parchment.” She points at the table by the fire. “Good luck.” 

And maybe this is a terrible idea but she decides to go through with it. She really has to get this down.Emma can only think of being sent away from Hogwarts because she’s so bad at magic. She walks over to table and hears Regina’s angry scribbles on parchment.

“Umm..hi.” Yeah, it definitely sounds dumb as she says it.

Regina looks up, clearly upset to have been interrupted. Black hair that doesn’t reach her shoulders and brown eyes that Emma thinks would be really pretty if they weren’t glaring at her. No, they are even then. She looks at Emma like she’s scanning her, taking in the beaten trainers that don’t really go with her robes and maybe how messy her curls are. Emma doesn’t need more than a second to realize that Regina already looks down on her.

“Is there something you want?” Her voice is sharp and she doesn’t even bother to put her quill down.

“So here’s the thing,” Emma begins still standing and rolling her wand in her hand. “I’ve been having problems with my fire spells and Professor Duncan said I should see his best student…”

“Which would be me, yes.” Regina cuts in and Emma has to keep from rolling her eyes.

“Right. So?”

“Wouldn’t want to cost the house any points, now would I?” Regina points at the place in front of her at the table. “Sit.”

“I’m Emma by the way. Swan.” 

Things go horribly bad from there. Turns out Regina has the worst temper on the planet and refuses to call Emma by her first name. Which is really what’s annoying Emma the most. She even throws in a “Miss Swan” in there because she just seems to know how it’s getting to her. But still, Emma pushes through. Tries to imagine the fire being born from her hands, just like she says, tries to picture small red sparks and it works somewhat. Except instead of a small flame it comes out in burst and it eats a foot of Regina’s parchment. The one she had been so furiously working on before they started.

“You idiot!” Regina hisses after she manages to put out the fire. 

“I’m really sorry…” Emma begins. 

“Save it. This is over!”

“Wait, what?”

“You’re obviously too much of a neanderthal to grasp first year spells.”

“Listen, Mills, “Emma makes sure to add extra venom to her name. “It’s not like you got sunshine coming out of your bum.”

“You’re lucky this lesson lasted as long as it did.”

“I rather get poor marks than put up with your crap for another second.” Emma says getting to her feet.

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Mills gathers her stuff and Emma expects her to storm out of the common room but instead they end up walking side by side up the stairs to the girl’s dormitory.

“Idiot” She says one last time before slamming the second years’ door shut. 

Emma stares at the door as she tries to shake off whatever it is she’s feeling. It doesn’t work.

 

**Green Hair and Detention**

* * *

 

This is an absolute disaster she thinks as she looks at her reflection. An hour of counter-jinxes and she has only managed to turn her hair a different shade of green. The morning had started off normal enough, she’d gathered her soap, shampoo and salts and headed for the baths. The air had been just as chill as any other autumn morning in the castle and yes, the stares she’d gotten on the way up the dormitory should have really clued her in. Her black hair had been turned into a nasty bright green. There’d been no time to try and fix it, so she had to go through her day with that ridiculous look. There are only two people moronic enough to attempt something like this and only one who had access to the Gryffindor bathroom and dormitory. The sole person who had pretended not to notice her stupid hair this morning and this afternoon. The one person capable of suppressing a grin while making conversation with another girl commenting about the loveliness of the day and avoiding her eyes. Emma Swan, proverbial thorn in her side.

Regina is still trying to figure out how she did it. She knows for a fact that the second year is atrocious at potions. There is not a precise or patient bone in her body. Swan has emerged from the dungeons, covered in slime, scorched, smelling like a dead ferret and bezoar, and face black with soot. It’s unlikely Swan would have done this by herself. But looking at the way a smug smile creeps on her lips at the common room this afternoon, Regina doubts the existence of an accomplice. Maybe she should walk over there and congratulate her on finally getting a potion right. Or perhaps it had gone very wrong and this was her idea of putting it to good use. She’ll deal with her later, now she needs to get her hair back to its natural black.

She pushes her wand into her pocket and heads out the Fat Lady’s Portrait and to the infirmary. She is determined to get there as fast as possible, no matter what plans the stairs have for her. Regina almost falls through a vanishing step and has the portrait Sir Wallace the Coward laugh at her. Oh, she can only begin to imagine the hell she is going to unleash on Swan.

“I thought we agreed green is my color, sis.” Comes Zelena’s voice from behind her as she finally hits the right corridor.

“Come to gloat, have you?” Regina speeds up her pace.

“Could be worse, I suppose.” 

“How Zelena? How could this possibly be worse?” She narrows her eyes as she looks to her side. 

“Swan could have made you blonde. You’d make a terrible one.” Zelena says with a laugh. 

“How do you know it was her?” 

“Pfftt...who else would dare? Other than me, of course.” Her sister waves her off. “Besides this thing between you has been going for a year. She turned your juice into vinegar, you shrunk her shoes, while she was still wearing them too.That was quite impressive,actually.” 

Regina rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

“It’s almost endearing.”

“ _Shut up, Zelena._ ”  

 Her sister just grins and takes her arm. She’s taken to doing that lately, because she’s turned fifteen and that suddenly means she has manners. It’s not entirely horrible, Regina admits only to herself. They’ll still clear a hallway whenever they’re having an argument but it’s not like before. Not like when they’re at their mother’s house and somehow the air is poisoned.

When they get to the nurse’s Zelena dangles her feet from one of the bed as she watches Regina be examined, only occasionally laughing.  

“And how did this happen?” She asks as she goes to fetch a vial from her office.

“I... I decided to experiment a bit with a potions assignment, I’m afraid.” Regina bites into her lip and Zelena eyes her curiously.

“I see,” She sounds dubious emerging from her office and hands her vial holding a red liquid. “Well, whatever caused it use this for three days and it should wash off. Do try to be more responsible with your work in the future.”

“Of course.” Regina gives her best practiced smile. “Thank you.”

“Mhmm.”

She and Zelena leave the infirmary and Regina knows she is just bursting with _something_.

“Just come out and say it.”

“What? I just think it’s interesting that you didn’t tell on your little sparring partner back there.”

“And land us both in detention?” Regina replies picking at some imaginary loose thread on her robes.

“Aha,” Her sister is practically dancing as she speaks. “I think you secretly like Swan.”

“Shut up, Zelena. Before I make you.”

“Mother bloody Shipton, you _do_. This is…”

“ _Langlock!_ ” Regina says pointing her wand directly at her mouth. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Not that you will be able to speak for a while.”

She leaves Zelena behind and knows exactly what she’ll do.

 

* * *

 

Dung. Emma is shoveling “imported bicorn”dung on a November afternoon. Good for who-knows-what. No magic allowed or else it wouldn’t really be called detention. Pinching her nose she thinks back of how she ended up here. She’d been heading for the library with Ruby when she heard her name being called...no shouted from the distance. Mills, in her green haired glory, had come after her wand drawn out. She’d actually been expecting it to happen a lot sooner, right after she’d realized that her hair looked like summer grass. Truthfully, Emma would have been disappointed if she hadn’t reacted at all. She’d spent quite a lot of time on that potion, she’d even finely sliced the ginger roots and saved the tarantula hairs for weeks to make it. Watching Mills practically charging towards her had been reward enough for her efforts. Ruby had shaken her head and said she’d wait by 19th Century Russian Wizardry.

Mills had wasted no time in trying to set her on fire, which Emma had  learned how to avoid after she’d singed her eyebrows off last year. Emma had thrown at her a slug eating jinx which she’d deflected. It’d landed on the worst person it could’ve been possibly hit. Blue, who in Emma’s opinion has a ridiculous name even for a witch, a third year Slytherin. The one with the sweet scary smile. After she’d thrown up her last slug of course she’d told on them to the nearest professor. It hadn’t helped their case that she and Mills had burst out laughing when the first slug had slithered out of her mouth. Twenty points off each and a week of detention.

“But it was me. It was my jinx that did it.” Emma had told Professor Gleghorn.

“Don’t you dare…”Mills had looked like she might forget her wand and just punch her.

“That’s very honorable of you Miss Swan but you will both be serving detention. Together. Now off you go.”

Mills had glared at her and run a hand through her very, very green hair. Emma had taken this to mean she should explain herself. 

She’d shrugged. “I just didn’t want to be stuck with you for a whole week.” 

And this is exactly where she finds herself now. Sweating inside her coat and ankle deep in crap.She looks over at Mills and that just makes it worse. She looks perfectly fine in this dumb pen, shoveling away like it’s old news to her. Emma had expected her to turn up her nose at all this, and make snide comments about how perhaps this is Emma’s true calling. But she hasn’t. Her dark hair tied in a bun and she doesn’t even breathe through her mouth when she shovels away at the biggest pile of poop. Emma resents this ability. Mills was supposed to be miserable. And having bounced from corner of London to the other the closest thing Emma’s come to this had been the loo at one of foster’s parents pub. It’s an effort to keep her face grimace free. Emma finds herself wanting to ask how exactly Mills is so comfortable with all of this. How is that she with her tailored robes and new books knows how to do this? Or why she seems to be enjoying it, just a little bit?

 She doesn’t want to risk another fight out here in the cold so Emma says nothing as she moves towards fixing the pen’s siding. The thing probably isn’t even on their list of chores but the caretaker no doubt sneaked it in thinking shoveling crap is too light a punishment for the likes of them. Creep. No magic means a hammer and nails. Emma walks over to the tool shed and searches the shelves for them and she feels something sharp slice the palm of her hand and then blood rushing down her fingers. Whoever thought enchanting a saw was good fun was clearly mental. She stumbles out of the shed and thinks that maybe she can get to the infirmary before Mills notices that she’s gone. After all, she’s barely even acknowledged Emma through all this.

“Shit, shit. Shit.” Emma mutters as she’s starting to feel sort of light headed at the sight of all the blood.

“Swan where the hell do you think you’re going?” Mills throws down her shovel and walks to the end of the pen.

“Listen..umm..I’m just gonna” She tries to hide her hand but it’s too late because her eyes have found it.

“You idiot, what did you do to yourself?” Mills lifts herself over the fence and jumps it. Emma is in enough pain to almost tell her that she thought that'd been amazing.

“Can I go? Before I bleed out?”

“And leave me here with all the work? No, I don’t think so.” Before she can call her three different muggle words she grabs her hand and presses her own palm tightly against it. Emma feels as if a small needle is stitching her skin back together and before she can let out an embarrassing whimper Mills drops her hand. It’s still kind of red from her blood but the wound is closed. There’s a scar in its place now.

“How did you…?

“Not all magic needs a wand, Swan.” She says it lowly, like it’s a shameful secret. Like Emma will judge her for it.

“Thank you.” Emma runs a thumb down her new scar. “Really.”

Mills only nods and heads back to work.

 

**Quidditch**

* * *

 

“Mire en su baul.” Papi had whispered into her ear before she got on the train for a fourth time. 

Regina had blinked at him, not really understanding what he’d meant.

“You’ll need to go fast this year,” He had been deliberately cryptic, knowing mother was well within an earshot. “Revise bien, estrellita de mar. Really look in every corner.” 

She’d unpacked frantically once she got back to her dormitory. It’d been a mess, of clothes, books, and shoes. Nothing, there’d been nothing. That’s what she’d thought until she’d found a small bag with brightly colored flowers embroidered onto black fabric. Finally, what she’d been meant to find. Regina had stuck her hand in to realize it’d been enchanted to hold a multitude of things inside it. First had come a pair of riding gloves and she’d known what it was all leading to with excitement rushing through her. Goggles had followed, a complete broomstick kit, and a shirt from Los Indios del Rayo. Using both hands a broom had finally emerged from the little bag. A Gavilán, papi must have ordered it special from the island, made from capá prieto. Light and durable in extreme humidity. A pale brown wood, capable of flying faster than a hawk. Papi had remembered about Quidditch tryouts this year and he’d gone and done this for her. 

Regina braids her hair and pulls the Indios del Rayo shirt over her head. It’ll be her good charm today. She’s nervous, despite trying to convince herself of the contrary. This should be child’s play, it’s what papi had always called British Quidditch. “Mija, you haven’t really played real Quidditch until the water is your pitch and you have the fear of the sea lodged deep in your heart.” He’d grown up in Puerto Rico and always said that she better believe that those players were better on Shooting Stars than the Chudley Cannons would be on Firebolts. Nothing like the Sun and salt to toughen you up. She’ll be more than fine, it’s in her blood. With her Gavilán on her shoulder she heads down to the pitch. All is going well, she’s even allowing herself to hum as she reaches the grounds. That is until she spots the most unlikely sight, not that unlikely now that she thinks about it. Swan with a Cleansweep Five in her hand and Blanchard by her side. That’s one way to get her blood boiling. Blanchard is Hufflepuff for Clutterbuck’s sake what is she even doing with Swan today? Regina decides to stay behind as to avoid all and any conversation.

 A plan with a foil it would seem. Blanchard has followed Swan to the changing room and is talking incessantly. It’s her way of trying to keep the nerves off Swan, she supposes. But the by the look on her face the only thing she is doing successfully is making Swan uncomfortable. She is hard at work pretending to lace her shoes or trimming the twigs of her broom only nodding to whatever she is saying. Actually listening to her words while she secures the team's coat around herself Regina understands why.

“And really Emma who is to say that your parents weren’t wizards?” She asks patting her arm.

“I don’t know Mary Margaret.” Swan replies not taking her eyes off her broom.

“But think about it! What it could mean.”

“What? That I could be pure-blooded?” She is trying really hard to keep her calm, Regina can tell. The whole thing is making _her_ angry.

“No! That’s not what I meant at all. Maybe they’re out there…” Except that's exactly what she’d meant but would never say.

“Looking for me?” Swan laughs like that’s supposed to cut through the bitterness.

“It could be!”

“Blanchard, it doesn’t matter who Swan’s parents were. She still doesn’t have any.” She says with a sigh.

“Regina!” She brings her hand to her mouth, a gesture she’s done since she was a little girl when she followed Regina around at every  party.

Swan says nothing, just locks her eyes with hers. She’d expected them to be fixed in a glare but they’re wide and unhurt.

“If you’re trying out for chaser don’t think I won’t destroy you.”

 

“Beater. Beater? Not chaser? That’s good.” McKinnon looks like he can breathe again after Swan’s told him what she’ll be trying out for. Regina still doesn’t understand how he, all jitters, can be the Gryffindor captain.

“Not like I could outrun anyone on this thing, anyway.” She says as she takes the bat away from him and mounts her broom.

And Swan is good. Curse her, but she is truly good. She hits Bludgers hard and fast and is willing to hang  off her broom to do it. It’s reckless but effective. And her aim is easily the best she’s seen all morning. McKinnon would be an idiot not to take her in. Then it’s Regina’s turn, it may be her imagination but she swears she can feel Swan’s eyes following her. She dives in for the Quaffle, easily steals it away from the others and uses the Gavilán’s tail to hit through the goal posts. All performed with only the necessary acrobatics, of course. McKinnon wants a run-around with everyone who’s trying out and now they’re all up in the air.

“That Bludger was aimed at me, Swan!” She shouts as she flies past her.

“That’s the whole bloody point! You’re playing for the opposite team!” Swan’s voice echoes across the field. “Like you didn’t trying to knock me off my broom!”

“You’re on the rival team!”

“LUNATIC!”

Behind her, she hears Thorpe muttering and McKinnon sighing. He blows his whistle and has them all land.

"Right. That was great. Brilliant.” He rubs his neck like he doesn’t want to continue speaking. “I think it’s obvious...uuh..Mills you’re our new chaser. George, you’re the seeker..and..Swan..you’re the new beater.” He says that like he’s afraid for his life.

 

Regina maybe smiles at that.

* * *

 

Light rain hits Emma as she’s up in the air, it’s their last practice before their first match on Saturday. Her ankles are linked together as to keep better balance on her broom and she allows herself to feel proud of this. Proud of this moment. She’d managed to skip out from yet another house that wasn’t hers and gone directly to Diagon Alley. There had to be some convincing, actually a lot of convincing, to get owner of The Broom Shop to let her work there for the summer. He’d muttered something about losing his elf and supposed a girl wouldn’t be so bad to have around to do the heavy lifting. The pay had been on the crapside but Emma had gotten a cot in the backroom and Mrs. Blackpott let her have all the sweet buns she wanted, so really it hadn’t been bad at all. There’d been the weekly ice cream and nightly tea that was really more sugar and milk. By the end of the summer she’d saved up enough for a used Cleansweep Five. This, this is hers alone and no one can take it away.

McKinnon blows his whistle to end practice. Emma still doesn’t see how he got to be captain, sure he’s a decent keeper but...he must be someone’s son. She is going to turn fourteen in a week and she still doesn’t fully get how everything works in this world that's supposed to be hers.

“Good practice everyone,” He clears his throat and sets his broom aside. “Remember George, the Ravenclaw seekers searches for patterns..so..um don’t do that. Swan?”

“Yeah?” Emma looks up not really having expected to be called out.

“Uhh…”McKinnon looks at Mills and then back at her and gulps. “Try to shadow someone other than Mills at the game on Saturday…”

But...she hadn’t been doing that. Had she? Emma just feels herself going red. What good is magic if it can’t stop this humiliation? 

“That’s ridiculous McKinnon, if anything Swan is aiming to let a Bludger murder me mid-air.” Mills cuts in with a huff and for once, maybe not for once, Emma is grateful. Mills is a whole three years younger than him and she can intimidate him into agreeing. But then again, she has that effect on a lot of people. Emma has never been more relieved that she isn’t looking her way.

“OK, just fan out a bit more during the match, yeah?” Yeah, Mills had made him look smaller. “That’s all. Go have a good rest.”

Emma lets everyone go ahead because she doesn't want meet anyone's eye right now. For once she’s glad David had been sick at the infirmary when the tryouts had happened. He’d be giving her a look she wouldn't be able to avoid. She sees Mary Margaret walk past Mills, looking like she wants to strike conversation, and Mills looking the other way as usual. Emma doesn’t really understand why she insists on that or why she bothers to come to all of their practices. She has the slight suspicion that it might be some sort of pity she won’t admit to. Maybe she feels Emma needs someone in the stands cheering her one because she has no one. And yes, she appreciates it but it also makes her guts turn into knots. Because it’s not what she wants from her friend. But Mary Margaret means well so Emma lets her. 

“You were great!” She tells her with that big smile that makes it hard to look beyond sometimes. “Solid blocks all around.”

“Thanks.”

“Regina is quite good, isn’t she?” Emma hopes that she hadn’t heard McKinnon’s directions.

“Yeah, I guess so.” She says trying to sound casual because the truth is Mills could crush anyone.

Over the next two days Mary Margaret doesn’t ease up on talking about Mills. Emma wants the Whomping Willow to put her out of her misery. Also, she just knows Mills would use Mary Margaret to kindle a fire if she found out she’s been talking about her. She is telling Emma about how Mills’s father is not actually British, and has some strange customs with magic. Her darker skin and hair are from his side, she says and the words sound like she’s repeating them. Mary Margaret explains how everyone supposes all his family has magic but cannot be certain because they, whoever they are, measure things differently where he comes from. Emma feels the scar on her palm and remembers Mills’s hand tight in hers. The look of slight fear on her face and suddenly wants Mary Margaret to stop talking. Because this isn’t something Mills would want her to know. It’s something she considers dangerous. So Emma brings up David, Charms assignments and the first trip to Hogsmeade and it’s forgotten.

Looking at all the players flying around the pitch on Saturday Emma decides that McKinnon _is_ someone’s son because he is a rubbish captain. Gryffindor’s just lucky most everyone on the team seems to think on their feet because Ravenclaw’s strategies are unpredictable. George’s is flying on pure instinct, trying to ignore how the other seeker seems to think. Maybe not the smartest gameplan, but Emma hopes it’ll pan out. Because right now, they’re mostly relying on Mills and her stupidly fast broom. Emma's curved five hits from bludgers and has sent three flying at the chasers, even two at the seeker to help George out a bit. She sees a chaser going after Thorpe and just at that moment a Bludger comes zooming past her. Perfect, she braces herself with one hand and hits it toward him. It was enough to make him lose his balance and almost slip. Emma is punching the air in satisfaction when one of the Ravenclaw beaters flies past her.

“MUDBLOOD!” She shouts looking back at her so that there is no doubt it’s directed at her.

It’s not the first time Emma’s heard but she’s still a bit shocked. Before she can react she feels her bat being taken from her hand. She hadn’t even realized Mills had flown to her side and is now batting a bludger towards the Ravenclaw. Emma is glad of two things, that Mills is on her team and that she hadn’t tried out for beater because that thing had hit her square in the shoulder. Scarily accurate aim. Emma thinks she’d heard actual bone cracking. 

“FOUL! UNNECESSARY AGGRESSION!” 

“Here.” Mills tosses the bat back to her and sighs heavily. She looks an awful lot like she’d looked at the changing room that day before tryouts.

What Mills had pulled earned Ravenclaw a lead of an extra twenty points. Not that it had mattered much because George had lost the Snitch in the end. But Emma doesn’t feel bad. Not at all.

 

**Christmas**

* * *

 

Regina watches the groundskeeper and his assistant bring in the tree for the Great Hall and her chest begins to tighten. Soon charms will be lifting stars and moons to hang from its tips and it’s making her uneasy. It means she will be stepping into a school chimney and emerging in her mother’s study in less than two weeks. There’d been one year when papi had taken her away for the holidays, she’d been six and it had been a hot Christmas. Family dancing on air, not caring if they were seen. Because everyone has some sort of magic there and it makes no difference if you could read someone’s future from a set of cards or if you could talk to the dead. Magic is everyone’s. This is her one good memory of this time of year, it had been stiff Christmas parties held in large cold manors since then. Mother’s watchful eyes and a laugh she had come to recognize as fake. In less than two weeks Regina will have to smile because she is hurting, dance because she wants to run and laugh to keep from crying.

“I’d brace myself if I were you, sis,” Zelena says lowly as they walk around the lake.

Regina throws in a stone, half hoping to awaken the Giant Squid or a mermaid. “Why?” 

“You’ll be facing mother soon. There’s always a price to pay with her.” She says grimly. 

“Don’t you think I know that?” Regina tries to sound defiant but it only comes as small. She’d known there’d be a fallout as soon as she played her first match. She’d already been sorted into the wrong house and now she’s made it worse by playing for them. To dare to be undignified and risk injuries and scars over a game. The price will be costly, Regina knows, but she will endure as she always does.

“I just don’t want you to forget,” She whispers as if they weren’t alone in this cold. “Because sometimes I do.”

There was a time when Zelena had hated Regina for always being with mother, being surrounded by the walls and gardens of the estate her father’s money had bought. With fine gowns and robes. But somehow, something changed. Like her sister’s eyes had been opened. She isn’t sure she wants to know by what. 

“I..I won’t.”

Zelena looks at her like there’s something Regina has forgotten or has yet to learn. “Let’s go back inside. I might die frozen if we don’t.”   

More and more decorations go up as the days go by and it’s getting harder to breathe. She starts eating in small bites again, trying to train herself. Her words become more measured and she is smiling that painful smile to test it how it feels on her lips. It makes her feel stretched out. A part of her is glad to see that this act has fooled everyone, that no one has picked up on the way her leg bounces under the table. Another part, one she wishes weren't as big as it is, wants someone to see her. To really see her. The weekend before holidays begin she walks the seventh floor corridor, paces back and forth. Wishing she could let this tightness in her chest go in one ugly wave of tears.

A door appears opposite the tapestry she always thought horrid and it clicks itself open. Not being able to contain herself for much longer, Regina goes in. She doesn't know why but Regina believes she'll be safe there.

* * *

 

It’s close to Christmas again. When she was little it had meant walking past streets with lights hanging from building to building, pressing her face on the glass of Hamley’s and having her stomach growl at the scent of roasted nuts. Emma maybe had one good Christmas when a foster mom had given her a teddy, which she keeps in her trunk, but all the rest had been, at best, forgettable. Mostly it's just a reminder of what she doesn't have, she doesn't have anyone that hug her as soon as she got home. No ugly jumper to wear because it’s a family thing. So far she’d spent two Christmases in the castle and they hadn’t been bad. She’d stuffed her face and had shared a table with the headmaster, three other teachers and some first years that’d been just as nervous as she had been. On Christmas day there’s been hot chocolate laid out in the common room and a roaring fire. She’d stay curled up in her bathrobe both times, watching the flames until she’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Woken up until it was already dark. She doesn’t suspect this year will be much different.

“We’d love to have you, really. We have more than enough room!” Mary Margaret tells her for what feels like the hundredth time.

Emma laughs and hopes Mary Margaret can’t tell she doesn’t mean it. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. There’s more food to go around those days anyway. I’ve got the common room all to myself too.” 

“We always have a big feast at ours. Three kinds of desserts.” She nudges her in the ribs lightly. Emma can’t tell her it’s that big feast and the other parties she talks about that keep her from accepting.

“It’s alright. Besides, I’ve already told Granny Lucas and Ruby I’d be staying at the school. Wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings, you know?” Emma lies. Truth is, Ruby hadn’t even asked because a full moon falls on their break and she doesn’t want Emma to see her like that. When there is no Shrieking Shack she can run off to.

“Hmm yeah, I suppose.” She looks thoughtful. “But if you change your mind…”

“Yes, I know.” Emma gives her the smile social workers had taught her when she was five. Meant to be bright but actually dull. 

“And you will be looking out for post from me on Christmas Day, won’t you?” 

“You bet.” And that she truly means.

Emma doesn’t really feel like heading up to Gryffindor tower just yet. It could get too much for her at times. There’d be music playing and people laughing. Some would probably be dancing to the same old Harpie’s song and cushions would be thrown around. Everyone so happy to be going home. And really, she can’t be around that. When all she wants is quiet, quiet in her mind and outside of it. She needs so much to let the act drop, to look as miserable as she feels. Because she’s tired, she wants a place to rest her head against and not think. Not say anything. Without really meaning to she looks up at what is perhaps the oldest tapestry in the castle and hears a door rattle behind her. Emma turns and there it is, a door that hadn’t been there before. She’d been warned about many things in the castle, including three headed dogs hidden somewhere, but never about a door that appeared out of nowhere.

Emma shrugs her shoulders and decides that whatever is inside won’t hurt her. It’s easily the biggest room she’s seen in the castle, besides the Great Hall. It’s so quiet she can hear her own footsteps as she moves through rows of books and cushions. The air smells sweet to her and is irritated to find there’s no food. Emma picks a large green pillow to wrap her arms around when she hears sniffling coming from a corner she can’t see.

“Hello?”

“Go away.” It’s Mills, she recognizes her voice even if it’s muffled like it is. “I mean it.”

 Emma has never listened to her and she isn’t about to start now. She keeps walking, hugging the pillow to her body until she finds Mills slumped against a wall and arms around herself. With red eyes she looks up at Emma, she’s done a poor job of drying her tears.

“Do you follow me everywhere, Swan?” Mills is trying hard to make it sound biting but it just comes out as exhausted.

“No, this was an accident.” Emma says as she sits down next to her and lets silence settle in. “I hate Christmas. Most of the time it meant being the spare in some house. Now it isn’t like that. I get to stay here. Still not my favorite thing though.”

Mills breathes heavily and doesn’t look at Emma. “I wish I could stay. Even an empty common room would be better than…”

“Home?”

Mills nods like she hadn’t thought of using that word and Emma feels something move inside her chest. “It wouldn’t be empty. The common room, I mean. I’d be there.” Emma speaks before she knows what she’s saying.

“Maybe next year. Maybe when I can say no to mother…” She lets out a laugh like she believes what she’s wishing for is impossible. Emma has laughed just like that more times than she can count.

She offers her the green pillow she’d been carrying and Mills takes it straight away. Wraps her arms around it and says nothing. Emma pulls out her wand and makes sparks, just like she’d taught her two years ago. She steals a glance at Mills and sees that her eyes are watching the sparks fly around the room. Emma expects whatever is between them now to never leave this room.

In no rush on Christmas Day, Emma heads down to the common room planning to burn her tongue on her usual hot chocolate and check for some package from Granny Lucas and a letter from Mary Margaret.There’s a card addressed to her under the tree and really, she’d been expecting something more...Mary Margaret from her. It’s just a plain card, even if the snow falling on the cover is enchanted. “Happy Christmas!” is all it says and Emma opens it thinking she’d find three paragraphs of a heartfelt message. Instead it reads: “To the idiot in the common room.” Emma rolls her eyes but later that night stashes the card under her pillow.

 

**Peggy and Butterbeer Foam**

* * *

 

 There’s a gentle hand shaking her shoulder, Regina had been so tired when she’d gone to bed tonight that she is barely registering what seems to be happening. She rolls away from whoever it is that’s been so insistent and mumbles something she doesn’t understand herself. 

“Mills, Mills..Mills..wake up.” The voice whispers far from her face. “Come on, wake up. Mills.”  Her eyes open, still stinging from sleep. She turns towards the voice and sees Swan’s figure hovering over her bed.

“No.” Regina says pulling the covers up to her neck. “Do you really have to pick the one night I don’t have prefect duties?”

“Uuhh..why do think I’m here now?” She presses and even through the dark Regina can tell she has that big dumb smile on her face. “It’s apple pie and custard for dessert tomorrow.”

“So?” Regina feels herself waking up. She knows it’s too late to stop whatever is going to happen.

“So apple pies is your...”Swan looks like she caught herself, she coughs to clear her throat. “Being made now. The elves could be talked into giving us some.”

She sits up in her bed. Swan is standing in those ridiculous slippers of hers and her long hair a mess over her robe. “Merlin’s beard Swan, is food all you ever think about?”

“No,” She replies quietly like she’s been exposed and maybe that makes Regina flush. Lucky it’s dark. “There’s Quidditch too. Come let’s go, before the Hufflepuff prefect makes it down.” 

Swan grabs her by the wrist and pulls her out of bed. As they leave the dormitory she hears someone whisper. “Sweet Agnes Sampson, _finally_.” 

They head down and Regina can’t help but wonder exactly this thing between them happened. All she gets are snippets, moments. Swan tossing her riding gloves at her as they leave practice. Banding together to do the exact opposite of what McKinnon says. Regina taking her History of Magic essay away from her and crossing at least three mistakes. Rants from Swan about cheap food down in South London. A tarot card reading that pulls a card that severely embarrasses them both and causes Regina to call her own magic inaccurate. Coming back from summer with a scar above her lip and Swan looking at her with questioning eyes but never pressing. Really, stealing food from the kitchens after midnight doesn’t seem strange. If anything, with her it was the next logical step.

Regina suddenly becomes aware that her wrist is in Swan’s hand.

“I know where the kitchens are, you know.” She can’t help the slight tease in her tone.

“Oh. Sorry.” Swan looks down at her hand and lets go. Regina tries to tell herself that yes it’d been the right thing to do and no, she hadn’t wanted her hand to move lower to find hers.

“Emma Swan, Emma Swan! It is much too late..to bed, to bed!” Says an elf when they make their way into the kitchen.

“Or am I too early, Peggy?” Swan kneels down to address her.

Regina has to take a second to breathe and really look at her. Because Swan is kind. Good in ways she’s never seen before. Maybe it could because she’d grown up away from all this, from its rules but she knows that’s not it. It’s just her. Just Swan and the way her wand carelessly pokes out from her hair sometimes. How she’ll go quiet sometimes when people mention ancestral names but lights up when asked about muggle music. It really is just her.

“Custard must be stirred and apple jam is just done. Too early, too early indeed Emma Swan.” 

“Can we stay until it’s not too early, then?”

Peggy takes one look at Regina and turns her gaze back at Swan.

“Yes, yes. But if caught Emma Swan must say it was her idea!” The elf agrees and snaps her fingers to get raw dough on the table.

“You come here often?” Regina asks taking the spoonful of jam she hands her.

“Pftt..rarely.” She shakes her head. “Twice a week.”

“Ridiculous. Because waiting til morning is just too much?”

“Yeah, actually.” She dips her finger in sugar and licks it clean.

She’s telling Regina how she saw on the telly, which she explained to be a box with moving people inside you could watch, that in America they have these special places. Diners, they call them. There’s food kept warm behind a small glass door and you put in money and then it’s yours.

“It’s like magic.” Regina looks at her in disbelief. “Well, not like magic. You know what I mean. It’s pretty great anyway. I bet those places are always open after midnight.”

Swan is maybe the only person she knows that allows herself to feel longing about small things. Things that do not require magic. Most people look back on the day they first manifested magic or the Sorting Ceremony. Not Swan. She’ll talk about how wet grass had felt on the first summer she remembers and how ice cream had melted on her fingers.

Peggy snaps her fingers a half hour later and they each have a slice of apple pie and a cup of custard. Swan wolfs it down in time while she takes her time not burn the roof of her mouth with the hot jam but feels her stomach warm in appreciation.

“Wasn’t this worth it?” Swan asks and her eyes are bright despite how late it is.

“It was.” Regina replies biting down her smile. She knows Swan can see it because she’s rolling her eyes at her. “Let’s get back before Peeves gets any ideas.”

* * *

 

It’s so crowded at the Three Broomsticks. Seems like almost everyone is here. To be expected when it’s the first trip of the year. At least they had to good sense not to have The Sirens playing or some junk or Emma wouldn’t even be able to hear herself think. She’d come with an exhausted looking Ruby with a fresh and well hidden cut above her eye and an excited Mary Margaret. It was a back and forth between Ruby’s tired half-smile and Mary Margaret’s grin. Emma guesses she lies somewhere between the two.

She’d managed to make some money again during the Summer and did more than stare longingly at lemon drops and cinnamon dragons at Honeydukes. They’re packed deep in her coat’s pockets. She tells Ruby and Mary Margaret to find a table, the butterbeer is on her this time. Emma turns toward the bar before either can protest.

There’s a queue, of course there is. Great.  Emma’s counting her Sickles when someone bumps into her. She almost lets the coins slip. Wizards should really start using notes.

“Hey, watch it!” She turns around to find Mills with that smug look she has most of the time.

“The queue is moving, Swan. Try and keep up.”

“What difference does it make when there’s about eight other people in front of me?” Emma replies but still steps forward. “Who are you here with?” Not that she’s curious, Emma tells herself.

“Midas. Tink,” Mills sighs. “Tink keeps hoping Zonko’s will start carrying pixie dust or the like.”

“Why?”

“She won’t tell us. Claims it’s a surprise.” Mills looks like she’s trying to contain her annoyance. It’s not working.

“I bet you’re just loving that.”

Mills laughs like she’s glad to have found her. Emma can’t stop looking at that, at the way her dark hair is thrown back and her eyes light up just enough. She wishes she could ask her to join her at the table but Emma knows her better than that. Something about Mary Margaret spooks her. Like she doesn’t just _see_ her but a million other things. And Mills does refer to her as “disgustingly saccharine”. So there’s that.

They keep talking about nothing or maybe _something_. There are not so quiet laughs from Emma and raised eyebrows from Mills. They finally get to the bar and of course the barkeep tends to Mills first. She slides her drink while she takes Emma’s order. It’s a darker color than regular butterbeer and she almost asks if that’s actual alcohol she’s drinking. 

“It’s apple butterbeer.” She says when she catches Emma eyeing it.

“I should’ve known. So predictable.”

“Ugh. Just give it a try.”

Emma takes a swig from it and well it’s definitely apple and butter. “I can see why you like it.” 

Regina rolls her eyes at her. And then her hand is on Emma’s face. Wiping away at her nose and lips. She’s sure she must be frozen in space.

“Foam. You even drink like a child.” Mills says a little too coolly.

“Three butterbeers.” The barkeep puts them on a tray for her and gestures for the person behind her to step forward. 

“I should get this to uhh..Ruby and Mary Margaret.”

“You do that.” Mills says taking a sip from her drink. Her lips are pink and foamless.

“Right. See you around.” Emma says awkwardly and hopes she doesn’t trip on her way to the table.

She finds Ruby, still bundled in her Hufflepuff scarf, looking at her with sleepy eyes.

“Ah..uh..um..where’s Mary Margaret?” Emma stammers as she places the drinks on the table and plops down next to her.

“In the loo. Thanks for this.” Ruby raises the mug to her lips and then puts it down a little too loudly. “Emma?”

“Yeah?” She turns to look at her because her voice sounds serious.

“It’s OK, you know?” Ruby doesn’t drop her gaze when Emma looks at her confused. “What you...feel for Mills.”

Emma snorts a little too loudly. “I don’t know what you’re on about, Rubes.”

“Emma...listen I,” She pauses to lower her voice to a whisper. “I know what it’s like to have to hide yourself. And I guess I just wanted to tell you it’s OK. _You’re_ OK. Just like you said I was, remember?”

She didn’t know her eyes had watered because her skin still burns where Mills had touched it. Emma nods and takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

 

**Soulmates and Mixtapes**

* * *

 

The day is nice enough, the beginnings of Spring. There is some color back in the grounds but not enough that there are bugs buzzing around. And it’s warmer than it’s been in months Just enough to have only her cloak, no gloves, no jumper. It’s how Swan had talked Regina into taking schoolwork outside. She’d asked to borrow her old Defense Against the Dark Arts notes and claims Regina’s hand-writing is undecipherable, so really she needs to be there to make sense of them. Regina had accepted that excuse notwanting to dig deeper and knowing Swan wouldn’t want her to either. She’s going through her own work for Magical Runes, trying to keep out mother’s voice calling it impractical.  Regina’s being extra careful about her translations of Celtic runes. As she gets stuck on one particular line she hears Swan muttering something under her breath.

“Well, this is garbage.” Swan says blowing air through her mouth. “Not your notes, just this is general.”

“What is?” She peers to look at her notes but Swan’s right, she can barely understand her own scribbles. But she’d drawn sharp edges around the page to signify that she’d hated whatever it is it said.

“Predisposition to the dark arts.”

“Ah that.” Regina says quietly not knowing where Swan is going with it.

“I don’t think some of us are wired to just give in, you know? She’s upset, enough to toss the book and notes aside. It’s like she’s heard some version of the argument before, as if someone at some point thought she’d been no good. Regina, for the life of her, cannot understand how Swan could’ve ever earned that label. Not even when they’d fought each other did she ever believe that about her. Annoying and infuriating, yes. Never not good.

“It is rather stupid. I don’t think whoever wrote that book understands much of...dark magic,” Regina is careful with her words. She knows the dark too well. It’s left marks and scars on her, when she’d been bent against her will or hurt just enough to make her say yes. A mother’s love. She needs to keep herself from releasing a bitter laugh. “You could argue that. Not agree with whoever wrote that. In the essay Blake asked for, I mean."

“Did you?” Swan’s eyes are sharp, still holding on to whatever memories are making her blood run hot.

“Yes.” Regina says scared of where this conversation might lead. Not ready to confirm what Swan has very likely figured out on her own. She presses her lips together and waits.

Swan nods and throws herself back on the blanket. “Time for a break, I think.” Not many witches possess that kind of intuition. It’s why she can read her so well, among other things Regina has to force herself not to linger on. “Hope this is not on my O.W.L.S. next month.”

 Just at that precise moment, when Regina is busy watching the way sunlight and shadow mix over Swan’s face and she is trying hard to keep the smile off her face, she hears own name being called from somewhere above her.

“There you are!” Tink says too excited to be anything good. She sits down next to her without an invitation. “I’ve got something to tell you.” 

“This better not be about that pixie dust you had ordered special from Ireland.” Her fingers are already rubbing her temples.

“It is, actually,” Tink doesn’t sound deterred one bit by Regina’s glare. “I’ve found your soulmate.”

 At the mention of this Swan sits up on her elbows and watches them both without saying a word.

“Mother Shipton, help me.” Regina shakes her head.”Tink, we’ve been over this. First, that pixie dust is probably just enchanted glitter. Second, soulmates aren’t a real thing.”

“Ugh, says who?” Tink says and still Swan says nothing. 

“Berta Trueba, Of Magic and the Soul, chapter 3.” If she’s being an ass with an air of superiority she doesn’t much care. Regina is sick of this talk. “Magic is capable of many things but it is incapable determining someone’s fate.”

Swan is watching her closely, like she can’t decide what to make of the words

“Bah. That’s what some say.” Tink waves her off. “Besides, don’t you want know who your soulmate is?”

Regina can’t look away from Swan and her hand closes around the blanket underneath her. This is it, the moment it all falls apart because of some phony pixie dust and a friend who meddles too much for her own good. 

“If it will get you to stop pestering me with it, then yes.” Regina tells her and she feels her pulse throughout her body and a burn in her stomach.

“It’s Locksley.” Tink says in a mock whisper.

Regina can’t help herself so she throws her head back and cackles so hard she falls back on the ground.

“Regina this isn’t funny!” Tink says exasperated and smacks her arm.

“Oh yes it is!” She can’t stop laughing.

Tink must look at Swan in some sort of hope of complicity because she hears her say “Don’t look at me. I’m with her, this is hysterical.” And then joins in which makes Tink huff and puff. She always does manage to look like an angry wood fairy when she gets like this, missing only the flowers and leaves wrapped around herself.

“But Locksley is nice and…”

“Certainly has a face.” Regina says regaining some of her composure.

“Not...that ...much to..look at.” Swan adds practically wheezing.

“Don’t encourage her!”

“Too late.” Regina says sitting up, with a twig or two tangled in her hair. She breathes and is glad that this time Tink’s blindness had come out in her favor.

 

* * *

The sling is making her arm itch, which already feels weird. It’s all rubbery and scratching it makes her shiver because her skin feels like an old balloon. It’s lucky that she only needs one hand to perform, or at least try to, charms on her favorite mixtape. She’s bored out of her mind in the common room and the Skele-Gro had upset her stomach. Not even the promise of a roast had been able to lure her to the Great Hall for dinner. Emma could just go down later, the nurse had said she wouldn’t sleep through the night anyway. Might as well be in pain eating tomorrow’s dessert.  She tries another spell on the cassette and the thin black tape comes shooting from the reels and tangles all over her face. Of course this how Mills finds her.

“What did you do this time?!” And she definitely sounds as mad as that time Emma fell off her broom to curve a Bludger away from her in a match against Slytherin.

“Isn’t it obvious? Got attacked by an inanimate object.” She tries to blow the tape away from her mouth but it doesn’t work.

“No, not that, Swan.” She sits down opposite her at the table by the fair. “Your stupid arm.”

Emma waves her wand and would celebrate that the tape went back into its reels if it weren’t for the daggers Mills is shooting at her. She tries to shrug but it comes off as pathetic because currently only one arm has actual bones.

“Arthur.” She replies like that’s supposed to explain everything because she doesn’t want to talk about it with Mills. “I think his spell backfired or something. Don’t think he meant to do this but it worked out in the end for him, I guess.” Leroi really is absolute crap at hexes.

“And what did the gnome faced monstrosity have to say about you now?”

“It was nothing.” Mills scoffs at her. “ _Really_.”

“Whatever he said when I find him..and..”Emma knows Mills is tightening her grip around her wand. “And you, you can’t just take his bait each and every time.”

“Like you’re not ready to try and set him on fire.” Emma sighs. “He provoked and me and well you know...nothing new” And apparently that’d been the wrong thing to say. Because Mills is getting to her feet.

“I don’t care what damn woman gave him a sword from a lake or who his father is I am going to..”

“Mills, no.” Emma wants her to drop it because she doesn’t want to tell her the full truth.

“He can’t just keep spouting this medieval pure-blood vitriol...I swear, fire is too good for him. Maybe the mermaids can be persuaded to..” And she begins walking away and Emma panics.

“It wasn’t about me.” Emma says rooted in her spot on the ground, thinking her knees might buckle if she stands. “What he said. It wasn’t about me.”

Mills turns around and Emma doesn’t look away from her, hoping she catches her meaning and doesn’t prod her. She returns to her spot on the floor.

“Oh.” Is all she says, like Regina can’t believe Emma would do this for her. It has her wondering if anyone ever protected her from anything because her eyes are wide and she suddenly doesn’t know what to do with her hands. “Why aren’t you at the infirmary?”

“Nurse thought I was being a nuisance.” She’s trying to cut through the awkwardness that’s settled in the air.“Turns out Jones drank his own love potion on accident and is sick for love of himself. I couldn’t stop laughing and that really wasn’t helping Astrid’s busted ear-drums so she sent me back here with a bottle of this.” Emma gestures to the Skele-Grow on the table.

“Well, finally someone admitted that Jones’s condition is worth clinical attention. Probably tried to sneak that potion into some poor girl’s drink.” Mills says with sucking in a breath still fiddling with her hands. Decidedly not looking at Emma.

“Yeah.” Emma replies not standing the strangeness in the room. “Umm..wanna help me with this?” With her good hand she points down at the tape. 

“What is it, anyway?” 

“Holds music. My batteries ran out”

“Batteries?” A lot of the time she forgets that there’s thing Emma has to explain to her and it always gives her warm feeling when she does.

“They’re like tiny tubes that hold energy to power what plays this thing-y.”  

“And you couldn’t listen to a record like the rest of us?” The snark in her voice returning already.

“If I have to listen to the Sirens or the Manchester Trolls one more time _I_ will set someone on fire.” Emma pushes the tape towards her. “Besides this has all my favorite music. Would hate it to go to waste.”

Mills has her explain what the cassette is made from, which Emma does very poorly, because it’d help to pick the right charm. She mumbles something about it being illegal to mix magic with muggle artifacts but quickly shrugs it off. There are more questions and she seems really taken with the idea that the music inside is something Emma put together, like she found something magical outside of this world. Emma knows she can’t stop smiling. Especially when one of her spells does work and there is actual music coming from the thing.

 _“This is the day when things fall into place…_ ” Comes from the tape and looking at Mills grinning Emma can’t much disagree.

 

**Mine**

* * *

 

Today is different for many reasons, it’s the last day of term for one. It’s her last day as a student, in fact. The air feels different, like it’s heavier on Regina’s shoulders. She’s seen classmates celebrating already, running around with their ties around their heads and tossing their black hats up in the air. But she doesn’t feel much like celebrating, this feels like a punch in the gut. Still, it’s her last day and she thinks she should make the most of it. Even if they’re all half-hearted attempts, Regina takes part in whatever is happening around her. Her mind isn’t registering that these are the last of anything on the school grounds, she cannot enjoy them. Instead she gets quiet, quiet enough that everyone else is too loud. And there is also the matter that she hasn’t seen Swan all day. Regina is not even going to try and lie to herself about her disappointment. She had expected to have seen her by now, she’d only caught a glimpse of blonde hair at lunch. This is perhaps what is causing the out-of-air feeling she has now and heads down to the lake. If Swan wants her then she’ll know where to look.

Regina’s twisting a leaf around her finger when she spots her, knees tucked under her chin back against their usual tree. Swan looks up at her as she gets closer, like she’d been waiting for a long time. Regina says nothing as she sits down next to her, feeling the grass against her legs. Swan sighs like she’s been holding everything in, she moves closer to lie her head on her lap. The mass of curls draped on her black school skirt. This is a line they’ve been toeing for a year now, leaning against the other on the common room’s floor, lending a hand when one wasn’t needed. This is, like many things about today, different. Regina looks down at her and her eyes are closed, like she’s trying to block out the world. And she knows, she knows that she should just let the moment lie because she’d done this, chosen to do this with her. To be in this bubble with her. She can’t, because she has to know what got her like this.

“Everything alright with you?”

“Hmm..” She only hums at first. “It’s nothing.”

“Emma.” Her name slips from Regina’s lips and that makes her open her eyes.

“It’s Mary Margaret. We had a fight." 

“About?”

“She was just being stupid.” It’s the wording that surprises her. She’d known Blanchard to be exasperating at times, but well intentioned towards Emma. However, nothing had ever pushed Emma to speak like this about her. “Can we not talk about it?”

“Sure.” Regina says with a hand caught in her hair.

And it’s minutes of heavy breaths and watching Emma clenching her fists. Whatever it is they’d fought about, it’s still bothering her. When a breeze moves through the leaves she remembers just what day it is. She won’t be here come September and doesn’t want Emma to have one less friend. Even if that friend is Mary Margaret Blanchard. Regina should do this for her, try to mend whatever is broken for her sake. Any other day, she would’ve let it go, not question it and accept whatever was radiating off Emma but not today. Today is different.

“Maybe you should try and talk to her.” Regina says quietly. 

“No.” Emma says with a tone that’s supposed to make her understand the finality of the statement. 

“Look whatever she did, and she’s done some truly idiotic things in the past, it can’t be that bad.”

“You don’t know…” She says sitting up and moving away from her.

“No, I don’t. Because you haven’t told me.” Regina can sense the irritation rising in both their voices.

“Since when do you take her side?” Emma says folding her arms. The abruptness of the question surprises Regina.

“Where is this coming from?” She takes a deep breath to steady herself because fighting with her was easier when it was just their wands out. “I’m not taking her side.”

“Sounds to me like you are.” Her eyes are narrow.

“I’m not! I just don’t want you fighting with her, is all!”

“Look, you don't...”

“We’re going around in a damn circle. Maybe I’d know what you’re talking about if you bothered to explain!” 

“Forget it. You should’ve left this alone.”

“I can’t.” This had been a mistake, she knows that. Emma’s right but it’s too late now.

“Why the hell not?”

 “I just can’t.” Regina doesn’t want to give herself away, especially not like this. Now is not the time for confessions. She wouldn't be able to survive Emma recoiling away from her.

“Now who’s the one not talking?”

“Is it so wrong that I just wanted to…”

She doesn’t take too well to that half-answer. “You’re supposed to be min...my friend. And trust me!”

“And you think this is me not trusting you?!” Regina gets to her feet and her jaw is tight.

“You’re not taking my word for it and won’t even tell me what’s going on with you. So yeah, that’s what it looks like to me!”

“Perhaps you’re the one who doesn't trust me!” She wishes her instinct were to hex her but it isn’t. She’s biting into her lip to keep from crying. “I cannot believe you!”

“Isn’t that sort of the problem here?”

“Oh, go to hell Miss Swan.” Regina turns on her heel and leaves her behind. She fights the urge to look back.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s tossing and turning in her bed. Her bed that has always been warm and soft but it feels like a sheet of rock now. It’d been the day from hell, if someone had told her she’d end up losing both Mary Margaret and Mills in one day she wouldn’t have believed them. Or maybe she would have, she doesn’t know. Emma should have seen it coming but she’d gotten so comfortable with Mary Margaret and so taken Mills that she hadn’t bothered to be scared. She should have been. Every single word breathed in this whole damn day is keeping her up, making her back hot and her scalp itch. Emma is going to go insane, that’s what Ruby had said after she’d told her about Mills.

“‘I cannot believe you’, that’s what she said to me. Fuck’s sake.” She’d been so angry. Ruby, being the only one who could listen to Emma rant about Mills, had watched her fume and pace around the astronomy tower. 

“If you keep doing that you’re going to run a hole through the floor. Calm down.”

“But how could she not trust me? Or God, think that I don't...trust her?” Tears had stung her eyes. “When did I ever... Fuck.”

“I don’t think it’s like that, Ems.” She’d given her a weak smile.

“Then how is it like?”

“Emma, today is the last day of term. Her last day here. ”

“I know that.” She’d known that far too well. That knot in her throat had never let her forget it. “Shit, I know that.”

“Don’t you think she was worried about you? Because she’s leaving?”

Emma had looked down at her feet, embarrassed about her outburst now. She’d felt herself deflating and then self-loathing settling in. What a crap day. She’d nodded without looking at Ruby.

“You don't want to say goodbye so you went and picked a fight.”

Emma had been struck by that, like ice cold water on a hot day. Because yes, given the choice she would rather be angry than heartbroken. And she hadn't even realize what she’d done. It had just exploded out of her when all she’d wanted to do was to hold on tight.She has to make this better, somehow. Now that it’s late at night and that Emma still can’t tell her about Mary Margaret. She feels sick just thinking about it.

Mary Margaret had used her sweetest voice on Emma, the one she uses for her birds and for first years. She'd taken her hand and pulled her into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

“What’s going on?” Emma had asked with a laugh.

“It’s about Regina.” Her voice still gentle and maybe she’d seen sympathy on her face. She'd been truly worried about her.

“What about her?” Her heart had raced and something had hitched insider her throat.

“Sweetheart, I know you have this...thing with her.” Her cheeks had been flushed red and her tone awkward.

“She’s my friend, Mary Margaret.” She had almost added _just like you are_ but decided against it. Emma had slipped away from her grasp, panic settled in her chest.

“Of course she is. I’ve just heard some rumors about her mother and the dark arts. Father said there’s been talk about her for years but it’s just come to his attention that…”

“I don't think you know what you're talking about.” True, Emma had never pressed Regina about her mother. But she'd always known she was terrified of her. Known that she was responsible for that scar above Regina's lip.The reason why the first time she’d shaken her awake in the middle of the night Regina hadn’t been able to breathe properly. 

“Emma, I’m just saying that maybe there's a reason she’s so good at Defense Against the Dark Arts. She could be like her mother for all we know. After all, dark witches…”

“I’m not hearing this!” Emma had turned to leave but Mary Margaret had taken hold of her hand again.

She’d held back the urge to tell that she'd never had a problem with Cora Mills before. When she raved about her gowns and speeches at their parties. She hadn't cared to find out what had changed her father’s mind. And mostly, Emma had just wanted to leave. 

“I just don't want to see you hurt.” 

“Uuh yeah...thanks. I’m gonna be late for something..” The lie too obvious to keep offense from Mary Margaret's expression.

“Please, Emma. Do you really know her?” And that had hit her the hardest.

“This is over.” She’d pulled her hand away and walked out the door. Moaning Myrtle had snickered behind her.

Even if she'd known Mary Margaret was far off the truth, Emma had spent a good portion of the day avoiding Mills. Until she couldn't take it anymore and had decided to wait by the lakeside for her. And then of course, Emma had been the biggest idiot. She hadn't heard Mary Margaret's doubts in her words until she’d seen Mills walking away from her.

What a bloody mess, she thinks as she lies on her belly. But one that she has to fix. Emma turns again and is planning to jump out of bed when she sees Mills shocked to have found her awake. She'll leave without saying a word if Emma doesn't stop her.

“Regina, wait.” Emma grabs her hand because she doesn't have time to pretend it's her wrist she'd meant to take. “Don't go. Please don't go.” Her voice breaks a little and she doesn't care. She doesn't care.

“Emma...” Regina gives into her touch and sits on her bed. “I’m sorry. I...I.” It’s not often Regina stammers like this.

“Don't,” Emma squeezes her hand because she can make out panic in her face. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.” It may be the world's worst apology.

“You are.” And Emma smiles because she can hear that breath that sounds like a small laugh. “It’s your finest quality.”

“Stay with me?” She asks with her heart in her throat wondering if anyone has ever felt this way before.

“Mhmm.” The hum is low and barely there but it’s the best thing Emma’s ever heard.

 She moves to the side and lets Regina crawl under the covers.Emma is suddenly remembers that she's wearing nothing but shorts and a raggedy t-shirt. The old cotton of her shirt against Regina's silk covered back. Their bare legs are intertwined and her arm draped over Regina. Emma can't help but think that this is where she had meant to be all day. Where she should have been. What good is magic if it can't make tonight last forever?

Regina turns to lie on her back so that Emma is left tucked under her chin. She knows for certain that she has never held on to anyone like this. Like her life depends on it. She’s aware of every little movement, every sound of Regina's body that tells that they really are here. And Emma wants to ask if she can kiss her, if she can kiss her because she should have today. Because she's loved her for so long. But she doesn't. Instead she buries her face in her neck not fighting her smiles or her tears. This is enough, that's what running through her mind, this is enough. But then the thought vanishes when she feels Regina pressing her lips against her hair.

Emma props herself on her elbow and looks at her, not knowing what to do. Through the dark she can see that her eyes are wide and feels her skin growing hotter. And Emma thinks maybe, maybe. Then a tentative hand pushes her hair away from her face and a thumb is running circles on her lips. Asking if this is fine, if this is something Regina can do. Then maybe doesn't exist anymore because Emma answers with everything she has. Regina's lips are sweet and soft against her own bitten ones. They're moving slowly, as if they’re in no hurry. Like they aren’t leaving tomorrow, like time isn't real.

There’s another shorter kiss and the smile they’d been too afraid to give each other before Emma retakes her place at the base of her neck. It doesn't make sense but Emma believes that if she stays awake then the Sun will not rise. But feeling Regina’s even breaths against her Emma’s eyes betray her. She holds Regina close because she knows now that there is no stopping tomorrow.

They sleep.

 

**Polyjuice and Urban Spacemen**

* * *

 

It’s a good thing that it isn’t raining tonight. Now that Henry is asleep against her shoulder and the city is loud. Regina knows that there is nothing odd the way she looks, nothing strange about her attire and no one would look twice at a mother and her son in her arms. Yet she can't help but feel that there are eyes on her, she's felt it for years but more so tonight. It’s because of what she’s about to do, who she’s about to see and what she’s going to ask. Her purse, enchanted to hold all her belongings and Henry’s, is slung over her free shoulder and her wand is strapped to her waist. She passes the darkened window of a closed shop and sees the worry hidden in her eyes and is glad only she can see it. Regina has been planning tonight for quite some time and it all hinges on one person. She just needs to find her first.

There is beaten down phonebooth, still red, but looking like no one will want to use it anytime soon. Regina takes a moment to steady herself. This will work. She picks up the receiver and sets it against her shoulder. Henry, busy dreaming and drooling, barely stirs. The coins sound too loud for her taste as she puts them in and pulls out her wand. She dials the number she’d memorized off a phone books days ago and immediately after casts a spell on the phone line. With a knot in her throat she waits until she picks up, it’s the only way her spell will work.

“Hello?” Says the confused voice on the other end, as if phonecalls are a rare thing. There's no mistake, it’s her. Regina thinks she would've known her by her breathing alone. 

Regina hangs up quickly before the temptation to keep her on the line becomes too much. And if her spell worked, she should be outside following a small spark of light that'll take her where she needs to be. And there it is, a violet light only she can see, floating just above the phonebooth.  It’s going North, she realizes, and it makes every kind of sense. It will not be a short walk but Regina needs time to prepare herself, this isn't just any night. After a while she is starting to regret wearing heeled boots because sometimes the streets oscillate between newer pavement and cobblestone but it will be worth it after tonight. Her sleeping boy will be safe after tonight.

The violet light pauses just outside a three story building white with a limestone wash. It’s average besides the graffiti painted on its side and the seemingly abandoned bicycle chained to the gate. The light bids her to go inside and with a simple spell she unlocks the front door. It takes her upstairs, to the door at the end of the hall and then it disappears having fulfilled its purpose. Regina takes a final moment to breathe and then knocks on the door. She hears the hurried footsteps of bare feet on wooden floor. Before memories flood her mind the door springs open.

Emma is standing there with her wand drawn out and barely dressed. Her hair's a mess of curls and her eyes are wide in disbelief. Her wand slips out of her grip as she leans on the doorway trying to keep standing. 

“Regina?” She whispers more to herself than to her.

“Can I come in?” She says because she doesn't know what else she’s supposed to say.

Emma nods weakly and she knows that it’ll be a moment before the shock wears off and the outrage or anger sets in. It's a small flat, as warm as Regina likes it. A memory comes like a pang of pain, being twenty two and in bed, Emma teasing her about how she never thought it was warm enough. But just like it’d come, it’d gone. This flat is different to the one she’d been living then. The bedroom door is open and sees that a mattress lies on the floor. The window looks out into an alley. There’s a blanket thrown over the sofa and a table that Emma surely uses to put her feet up after a long day. Papers, tapes and the smell of take away. It’s the signs of a life and Regina suddenly feels that maybe coming was a mistake. Henry grabs a fistful of her hair and then she decides that it can't be.

“Is it alright if I put him down?” Regina asks quietly, as if this is going to be a normal conversation.

Emma gives her another nod, her back against the door. 

With one hand Regina searches and finds his crib. It’s small and wooden. Not grand enough for the taste that had brought her up. She untangles him from her arms and he lies undisturbed in his crib. Regina might as well have used a sleeping draught on him, especially considering his terrible first days with her when he did nothing but cry. His lips curl, a sign that he's down for the night. 

“Are you real?” Emma says and she turns to look at her. Wand in hand and standing behind the sofa, ready to fight if need be.

“Yes, I'm quite real.” Regina's hand lingers on Henry's crib.

“How do I know it’s you?” Emma's eyes narrow and her tone almost turns bitter.

“You have three moles just over your ribs. It annoyed you that they weren't enough for a constellation.” 

“Shit, it really is you.” Emma sits down on the couch and tosses her wand on the table. Her head between her hands. “What the hell, Regina?!” 

“I know.” 

“I thought something happened to you! I thought you were...fuck! Three years!” She whispers harshly lying back against the sofa.

 Regina wants nothing more than to sit next to her and take her hand, like she used to. Instead she moves to stand in a corner where she can face her. “I can explain. You may not want to hear it,” Emma snorts. “But I need you to. Please.” 

She relaxes somewhat. “We’re going to need firewhiskey for this.”

“You were the one on the phone earlier, weren't you?” She asks pouring a healthy amount into two glasses.

“It’s how I found you. I’ve heard what you do for a living now. Figured you’d have the place protected against regular location spells.”

“You thought right. Most don't use muggle artifacts to help their magic.”

“No, they don't.”

Emma smiles at that but then remembers herself and hands Regina her glass. She plops down on the sofa and Regina doesn't bother to ask if she can sit.

“I think it's time for that explanation.”

 

Regina takes a big gulp of the firewhiskey and immediately feels the burn. It’s good, it'll help with her words. Regina doesn't talk about what Emma knows as well as she does. Stolen moments over lunch when she was just starting at the Ministry and Emma split her work between Diagon Alley and a record shop in Soho. Nights out looking at the glow of the city over the river. Being caught in the rain and not much caring. Quidditch matches and soaking in baths together. She doesn't mention any of that or the letters that followed when Regina had been “hand-picked” by Gold, whose official title was Minister of Magical Artifacts, to be in a special division. Letters that she still has in her purse. She does tell her that it had been a dirty job, twisting magic in the muggle world. Working to fit both the Ministry's and Downing Street's concerns. She’d wanted out, so badly, she says but mother had arranged for her to stay there. It should have been endurable, that's what she’d told herself. But it had been terrible on her, even her wand hadn't cooperated so much back then. It’d made her mother grow more suspicious of her. She’d found about them or Regina supposes she’d always known. Had been waiting for an opportunity to use it against her. Love is weakness is what she'd said and then threatened to personally rip Emma’s heart out. Nothing would stop her daughter ascending the ranks. That's when the letters had stopped.

At that Emma looks up at her and her eyes are wet. Regina doesn't know if it’s about her or them. She gestures for her to join her in the sofa. Her face is serious but still moves towards Regina as she sits.

“Are you safe?” Regina recognizes the question. It'd been the only thing Emma’s last letter had asked. The one she’d never answered.

“Not entirely.” She breathes deeply and thinks of Henry. “No one knows where we are. I’ve been careful.”

“And what about…how?”

“Henry?” She can't help the small smile on her lips.

So Regina tells her about being sent to manipulate a scene at a house. Make it look like a gas leak, they'd said. It had just happened and her superior had merely given her enough information for her to apparate at the scene. Regina had easily recognized the Ministry's handiwork as soon as she arrived, no rogue wizard had done it. No muggle could have been responsible.Then she’d heard cries from the rubble and discovered Henry. Maybe a few weeks old. This had been a year after Emma's letter and Regina confesses of having thought of her when she'd taken Henry in her arms. She’d dressed up the scene, more than the Ministry had required, and taken the boy home with her. He became yet another thing for mother to use. No, she hadn't threatened his heart. But she'd made sure to create a way which would separate them for good.

“See, she stole my hairbrush one night and made herself some Polyjuice potion. Mother went out and committed a crime I rather not describe,” Regina pauses and Emma takes her hand. “But then using her influence at the Ministry interceded in my favor or who they believed to be me. And they agreed that so long I kept their line of work I wouldn't be sent to Azkaban.”

“Fuck.” Emma and her hand tightens around hers. “I knew your mother was a piece of work but this?”

Emma looks at her like she always did at the end of bad day. Eyes soft and lips open and prone to sighing. Regina feels like she's been pulled toward her and she doesn't know how is it that their lips end up meeting. All firewhiskey and tears. She half expects Emma to push her away but she doesn't. Regina is led towards the soft mattress on the floor and forgets that she hasn't shared the most vital part of her story with her yet. They can't do anything but kiss and run soft fingers on the other one’s skin for a while. Times acquires this unreal quality as she feels Emma’s arms around her waist. It feels like it did ten years ago, when they were both seventeen and knew their world would change in the morning.

“So why are you here now?” Emma lips move against her neck.

“I’ve been gathering evidence against mother. Because Henry deserves better than to grow up...in _that,”_ Her voice won't break even if it shakes. “I’m going to move forward with it soon. It may or may not work. Should something happen to me I want you to…”

“No,” Emma says removing herself from her side and Regina feels as if the whole world is crashing down on her. “That kid isn't growing up without you. I’m going to help you figure this out.” She wraps her arms around her again as if to make her listen, asking her to stay.

“Emma. You don't understand…”

“I was your beater, remember?”

“It isn't like Quidditch.” Regina tells her a little less firmly than she would have liked.

“No, but you sure as hell aren’t doing this alone. And I know you know what I can do. I've got your back.”

“Please just…”

“You don't know, Regina…” She feels her suck in a breath, remembering an old wound. “The day I realized I wouldn't get another letter from you was the worst day of my life. You don't know what it’s like to lose you.”

Despite herself, a sob escapes her. “OK.”

“OK?”

“Don't make say it again, Swan.” She says with a voice wetter than she would have liked.

 

* * *

 

The wind is a stronger than Emma likes it, it makes her eyes water and messes up her hair. Especially in the South Bank where it can hit with a whiff water. It’s not a bad day, but it’s not the best one. Henry’s tiny gloved hand is in hers. He’s wearing a silly hat he’d pointed at from the street. It has the eyes of and beak of an owl, it covers his ears and at least Regina will be glad of that. It’s her day in front of the Wizengamot, she’d smiled despite herself when Emma had called them a bunch of wrinkly old wankers. They’d fought over Emma being there, she’d insisted she should be in the courtroom  and Regina said it wouldn’t help her case. The testimony of bounty-hunter who did the Aurors’ dirty work wouldn’t be considered reliable or inspire confidence in her character. She’d grumbled and said that yeah, maybe she had a point. Ridiculous really, because she along with Mulan and Marian had tracked down people who _would_ testify against Cora Mills, people who could back up Regina’s evidence. Emma knows that the three of them are considered undesirables by the Ministry for one reason or another, but in the end they're always needed.

It’s been a surreal month. She's called in every favor she was owed, and spoken to everyone who could help. Emma has come home with her feet wrecked and sometimes out of breath. But when she’d curl herself around Regina or pick up Henry she’d forget all about that. Regina has mostly felt caged, after they'd decided she better limit her outings to almost none. That hasn't stopped her from dragging Emma and Henry to the Borough Market on Saturdays because she would be damned if she didn't get her good cheese and bread. Besides, she’d had argued, it’s always filled with people, they’d hardly stand out. This month has been morning tea when Emma had always skipped it, her sheets smelling like vanilla, getting soaked by a two year old in a bath. Her old t-shirts ending up on Regina who’d given a flimsy excuse as to why she’d been wearing them. It's been Emma pulling faces and funny doing voices and that _look_ on Regina's face before she kisses her. Finally, the time has come to get going. The Ministry had wasted no time once Regina submitted her claims, set the trial for a week after. Serious allegations against a member of high society, by her own daughter no less. It could hardly be ignored. 

This morning Regina had pressed kisses onto Henry’s cheeks until he squirmed in Emma's arms and said “Mama no more!” through small laughs.

“You’ll be waiting?” She’d asked blinking the tears away.

“With the little man, yeah.” Emma had given her what she hoped was a reassuring smile, aware of the double meaning of the question.

“Ma,” Henry had said with a familiarity that still moves Emma, even if she knows he’s just shortening her name. “Why is mama sad?”

“Not sad, sweetheart,” And the smile she’d given him had hurt to look at. “You and Emma are going to have fun today and I’m just going to miss you loads.”

“Come with?” He’d asked her with those big brown eyes of his.

“We’ll see mama later, buddy.” Emma had hoped it’d been a promise she could keep.

They’d taken the tube, which according to Henry, is just a big old dragon. He might have been a little too impressed by the sound the rails made and the headlights flashing in the distance that first time he rode it. Today, he’d been all wide eyed and constantly smacked his hand on her thigh to point at whatever he’d found interesting inside the train car. As if that were the true magic, and Emma supposes that maybe it is.  

“Ma, when we eating?” Henry says looking up at her.

She laughs and sees what Regina says about the kid reminding her of Emma.

“Before we see the fishes.” Emma replies picking him up.

“Now?”

She barks out another laugh and she can almost forget that today is not an entirely good day. 

“Yes, now.”

Emma rolls her eyes at the amount greens Regina had stuffed into her sandwich. She should've known better than to let her pack lunch for them. Same goes for the kid’s half sandwich, there is even baby carrots instead of a pack of crisps. She watches Henry happily munch on his food and thinks she'll be getting cotton candy for the both of them. They're on a bench facing the water, and she smiles when she catches Henry sitting in her exact same position. Throughout their lunch he mirrors her every move and Emma thinks herself lucky.

“Ma, do the silly song.” He orders, not unlike Regina, as he stands on the bench and puts his hands on her shoulders. 

Henry had found one of her self-playing enchanted old tapes in a box and he’d become obsessed with one particular song because of “the funny sounds”. Now he requested it every time they are away from the flat.

“Ma...the song.” The kid says like his life depended on it.

“Alright, alright. Next time you make mama sing it, OK?” Regina hates the song, it'll be a sight to see.She grabs his waist and gives him a slight shake, as if they were about to dance. “ _I’m the urban spaceman, baby; I’ve got speed. I’ve got everything I need. I’m the urban spaceman, baby; I can fly. I'm a supersonic guy.”_

He laughs and puts his hands on her cheeks when she’s done.

“Wha's a spaceman?”

“Uuh, it’s a person who goes up there,” Emma points to the sky, not knowing how to explain it better. “To visit the stars.”

“Can I be spaceman?”

“Anything you want, kid.”

He falls asleep on her shoulder and Emma feels her wand poking at her ribs and she’s sure there’s drool and crumbs in her hair now. She wonders how Regina had managed to do this alone. Nobody had ever talked about this kind of brave at her Sorting Ceremony, nobody had explained that it could also be found in the little things. Today is the day for big and small things, Emma remembers. She’d know in a few hours whether or not she’d have to fight dementors in her near future and be the first to bust a prisoner out of Azkaban. 

Their lips are pink with cotton candy, her cheek is sticky where the kid had decided to plant a kiss. And really, she should wipe it clean but she is a little too lost in the moment to do it. They’re inside the aquarium now, opened in the Spring of this year. A whole world of fish that goes down into the ground and he keeps gasping at all the blue. Emma loves how impressed he is by everything, how this is the same as sparks and canaries sprouting from their wands. Regina’s done right by him. His face is pressed against a glass when Emma spots a redheaded woman at the other side of the tank, and her mind takes her to a different place, three years ago.

Alone at a pub, drinking with Regina’s last letter in her pocket. She’d spotted a woman with bright red hair who ordered apple cider for herself, the most expensive kind and had stared at Emma as she drank it. And Emma had thought, what if? She’d looked nothing like Regina, pale and blue eyed, but she had still run after her when she left the pub in a hurry. The woman had been nowhere to be found, almost like she’d deapparated. She’d told this to Regina the morning after she’d come back to her. Regina had turned in her arms, and said “ I couldn’t stay away… I had to see you...I just plucked a hair from the first woman and I saw and..” they’d both cried then. Emma had said that it didn't matter anymore. It doesn't, and somehow it’s that memory that fills her with some optimism. Things will work out.

“Sharks, sharks!” Henry says pulling at her jeans, asking to be picked up for a better view. She does and smells the sugar that’s still all over his face.

She hears him whispering to himself and pointing at each one for Emma to see but then he sucks in a breath. “Mama, mama!” He says and tries to wriggle his way out of her arms.

“Woah, hold on buddy,” She tells him thinking that he’s maybe about to burst into tears. “Don't be trying to pull an escape from me.”

“No, no! Mama’s here!” Henry says pointing across the tank. “Down, ma, down!” And without another word she lets him go and runs after him.

His two year old legs carry him fast enough that she catches him jumping into Regina’s arms, sees the exact moment when she feels that same pink stickiness on her cheeks. She laughs and kisses his hair. She hadn’t expected this and Emma is struck dumb by the sight.

“You could have at least hidden the evidence of your crimes, Swan.” Regina says voice a little shaky with tears but her eyes are soft and bright.

“Maybe I wanted to get caught?” She moves closer, not really knowing what to do. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Regina says putting Henry down but keeping his hand in hers. 

“All done?”

“Yes,” She sighs, like she can’t believe she’s still allowed to. “I don’t suspect mother will be sending her love any time soon.” 

On instinct Emma’s fingers find hers because if she is not capable of conscious moves right now. She can’t register it, she can’t believe it’s over. They can breathe. 

“Please tell me it was Liddell's testimony that did it because she was impossibly to track down. Found her practically living in rabbit hole, quite frightening actually.” Emma’s rambling, she’s aware and Regina’s smirk doesn’t let it go unnoticed. “I don’t care what they say, rabbits are terrible familiars.”

“She did help, yes. Looked a little unhinged perhaps, but they were able to ascertain that it was the consequence of mother’s Cruciatus curse.”

“Doesn’t an unforgivable curse buy you a one-way ticket to Azkaban?” She lowers her voice, looking out for any eavesdropper.

“Not if you’re Cora Mills, apparently.”  Regina lets Henry pull her down so he can show her a toothless shark swimming at the bottom.

Emma crouches down, keeping from scratching her head in confusion. She sits down on the floor, crossed legged fearing she’d lose her balance.

“Then how?”

“My sister,” Regina says quietly, eyes brimming with tears again. “Mother hadn’t expected it, of course. She’d assumed Zelena would never dare. Mother never did know her daughters. And given Zelena’s position at the Ministry, they couldn’t exactly ignore her. There was someone else too…”

“Oh?”

Henry comes sit between her legs, obviously gesturing for Regina to sit like they do. Careful with her best coat and stockings, she does. And again, Emma thinks herself lucky. Doesn’t dare peel her eyes away from Regina, whose sharp profile is set against the water and the light coming in from the top floors. Emma had once thought that maybe one day she’d stop being surprised by her, like with spells and charms. She grins while looking at Regina and is certain that they day will never come.

“Mary Margaret Blanchard,” Regina’s voice takes that practiced indifference she uses as a shield. “Apparently she got herself into the trial by way of her father.Provided a strong argument in favor of my good character.The Wizengamot couldn’t exactly tarnish the Blanchard name by labelling her a liar. Funny, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Emma says not meeting her gaze because of course Regina knows about her talking to Mary Margaret, she is just prolonging her suffering.

“She found me later. Told me something about doing whatever it takes when you believe in someone. Well, I suppose you know how she gets.”

“Ugh, you are the worst.” Emma says trying to shake the embarrassment of hearing her own words repeated back to her. She might kill Mary Margaret after she hugs her when she next sees her. 

“Ma, rude!”

“Traitor! How easy he…” Regina stops her nervous lips with hers. Emma is sure that were she not a grown witch of twenty-seven this would have caused her to float away. The warmth spreading through her feels like sitting in the common room listening to a song about the day when the rest of their lives would begin. And that day is finally, _finally_ here. All blue, and sticky pink. Ordinary to an onlooker but nothing short of pure magic to them.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hold some issues about how JKR chose to address non-Western magic, the muggle-world, and how she brushes over non-blood related prejudice in general, so that's what you see here. Also, I mistrust all governments so here we are. 
> 
> I know spaceman usually refers to an alien but I am rolling with my astronaut interpretation. 
> 
> And Zelena totally chose to be in Slytherin because she thought that'd make Cora love her more. If anyone deserves Azkaban for the rest of their life, it's Cora Mills.


End file.
